The Passing of an Old Friend
My parents told me about Mr. Common Sense early in my life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions. It seems he was always around  in my early years but less and less as time passed by.  Today I  read his obituary. Please join me in a moment of silence in  remembrance, for Common Sense had served us all so well for so many  generations.
 
Obituary
Common Sense 

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has  been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was  since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.  He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as  knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the  worm, life isn't always fair , and maybe it was my fault. 

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies  (don't spend more than you earn) and reliable parenting strategies  (adults, not children are in charge).

His health began to  deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing  regulations were set in place. Teens suspended from  school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for  reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition. 

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for  doing the job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their  unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required  to get parental consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a  Band-Aid to a student, but could not  inform the parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have  an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten  Commandments became contraband; churches became businesses; and  criminals received better treatment than their victims. Common Sense  took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in  your own home and the burglar can sue you for assault. 

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman  failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot.  She  spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge  settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his  parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter,  Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by three  stepbrothers; I Know my Rights, Someone Else is to Blame, and I'm a  Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few  realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on.   If not, join the majority and do nothing.

 

A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop...
A tourist wanders into a back-alley antique shop in San Francisco's Chinatown. Picking through the objects on display he discovers a detailed bronze sculpture of a rat. The sculpture is so interesting and unique that he picks it up and asks the shop owner the price. "Twelve dollars for the rat, sir," says the shop owner, "and an extra thousand for the story behind it." "At that price, you can keep the story, old man," he replies, "but I'll take the bronze rat." The transaction complete, the tourist leaves the store with the bronze rat under his arm. As he crosses the street in front of the store, two live rats emerge from a sewer drain and fall into step behind him. Nervously looking over his shoulder, he begins to walk faster, but every time he passes another sewer, more rats come out and follow him. By the time he's walked two blocks, at least a hundred rats are at his heels, and people begin to point and shout. He walks even faster, and soon breaks into a trot as multitudes of rats swarm from sewers, basements, vacant lots, and abandoned cars... following him. Rats by the thousands are at his heels, and as he sees the waterfront at the bottom of the hill he panics and starts to run full tilt. No matter how fast he runs, the rats keep up, squealing hideously now not just thousands but millions, so that by the time he comes racing to the water's edge a trail of rats twelve blocks long is behind him. Making a mighty leap, he jumps up onto a lamp post, grasping it with one arm, while he hurls the bronze rat into San Francisco Bay as far as he can throw it. Pulling his legs up and clinging to the post, he watches in amazement as the seething tide of rats surges over the breakwater into the sea, where they drown. Shaken and mumbling, he makes his way back to the antique shop. "Ah sir, you've come back for the story," says the owner. "No," says the tourist, "I was just hoping you had a bronze sculpture of a lawyer "